Coming Home
by IndigoNightandRayneStorm
Summary: After sixty years, it was time to come home. Logan/Steve Rogers. Slash, don't like don't read. ONESHOT! A late Christmas special! Read, Review, Enjoy!


**Title: **Coming Home

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **After sixty years, it was time to come home.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Logan/Steve Rogers

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X-Men or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Not really…

**Warnings: **Slash, if you don't like, don't read.

**Author's Note: **MERRY CHRISTMAS! Yes, I know, it's very late, especially since I actually planed to write this for Christmas last year. But all is well, it's done now Read, Review,

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The wind was biting cold. Snow swirled in powdery eddies around his feet as he walked. Stars shone brightly above him with no more than a sliver of a moon to overshadow them. It was quiet. He was alone.

Up ahead of him glimmered the windows of a large house, a mansion, the lights on the outside dull and pointless compared to the brilliance shinning from inside. As he approached, climbing easily over the stone wall, deftly dodging the various security devices scattered about the expansive lawn, he could already hear the echoes of laughter and conversation.

As he slunk up to the brightest of all the windows, he questioned why he was even here, and what exactly he intended to do. Would he make his presence known? If that was his plan, then it was rather silly to sneak up in the first place. The truth was, he didn't have a plan, he wasn't thinking this through; he was merely allowing himself to be led blindly by his primal desires. He didn't argue them, didn't fight them, didn't try to explain them.

He was cold, and disoriented, and alone, and this house was radiating a warmth and belonging that he couldn't ignore. Stealthily he reached the window ledge, pleased with himself that at least he wasn't out of practice, and cautiously peered inside.

The image displayed before him was iconic. It was like something straight out of Norman Rockwell, that is, if Norman Rockwell painted blue people with tails and girls walking through walls and other oddities. The room was large, less like a living room and more like a hotel lobby, but it had a much more comfortable, lived in feel to it. In the corner stood a massive Christmas tree, surrounded by heaps of presents and decorated with baubles of all shapes and sizes. In one of the multiple doorways leading into the room the aforementioned blue boy was trying to tease a girl into kissing him under some mistletoe before she giggling allowed herself to fall backward through the wall to escape him. Others sat, lounged, or chased each other about the room, mostly teenagers, a few presents had been opens and wrapping paper scattered the floor.

He hadn't even really registered that it was Christmas Eve until that moment. Sure, they had told him the date when he first woke up, but he'd paid more attention to the year, not the actual date.

All of this he processed with only a passing glance however, before his attention immediately zeroed in on the one man who'd drawn him there. Logan. He looked exactly the same. He was sitting on the couch closed to the tree, laughing as a boy, no, a young man, who apparently felt the need to wear sunglasses inside, told some sort of story with wildly exaggerated gestures. They looked happy, all of them did.

And suddenly, outside, in the snow and the desolate silence, he felt utterly hollow and alone. He turned away from the window and began trudging off into the darkness, chastising himself. Sixty years was a long time, how stupid of him to think that there was maybe still a place for him to belong.

He didn't feel the sting of the freshly falling snow on his face, he was so focused on the hollow ache in his chest, nor did he notice the dark gaze that in the middle of a lazy sweep of the room had landed on the window at just the right time.

"Rogers!" The voice made him freeze in his tracks, and for the briefest moment he was transported back in time sixty years. He turned slowly to face the voice, to face its owner, who had also stopped, just a few feet from the still hanging open front door.

They faced each other, separated by twenty feet and just over half a century of time, silent, just staring for a long while. Logan in shock and Rogers, Rogers was in too much emotional turmoil to label just one.

Finally, without warning but by mutual consent, the ice shattered and in an instant they were wrapped tightly in each other's arms. Word tumbled from their lips, jumbled and fragmented, sentences unfinished as they ran into one another.

"I woke up… you weren't there…"

"I didn't know… they didn't tell me…"

"I wanted to find you…"

"I should have been there… I wanted to be… I would have been…"

"It's okay…"

"I missed you…"

After that there were no more words, there didn't need to be. Oblivious to youthful faces staring at them, noses pressed against window panes or heads peeked around the door frame, and swirling snow, and all else, they just stood there, holding each other. After sixty years it finally felt like coming home.


End file.
